The Zucest Collection
by BellatrixLestrangey
Summary: A set of drabbles from the Sinful Sunday's writing challenge on tumblr.
1. Fraying Focus

Zuko watched her from across the room as the general droned on and on about shit he didn't actually care about. Truth be told Zuko had never intended on coming to the meeting at all. He only made his way into the room because Azula had insisted. He watched her cross one leg over the other, sitting straight up and attentive as usual. She cast him a casual glance, those golden eyes surveying him briefly from beneath thick lashes. She turned her head again, back to the general whom had requested from her some answer to some question Zuko had completely missed upon focusing so heavily on his sister. The woman in question drummed her fingers on the table lecturing the general on why his idea—whatever it was—was stupid and wouldn't work. Her lips moved slowly and enticingly, sparking within the darkest parts of him a wicked desire to let his own fall on hers. He continued to stare at them as they carefully articulated every word Azula wished to speak. And upon finishing what she chose to say, those lips—so masterfully tinted by the most expensive lipsticks—quirked up in a devious and smug smile.

Zuko twiddled his thumbs nervously. A wild need over taking him. He shook himself slightly, unfortunately he couldn't shake himself enough to pull him out of the guilty fantasy that began to bubble up—lest he draw attention to himself.

And so he sat, his eyes wandering to places they never should. Azula stood, unwittingly allowing him do drink in her slender form in its entirety. He felt his face growing hot. Of all the places he could find himself in this situation, it had to be at the important war meeting. Almost as great as his desire to kiss Azula right then and there was his urge scream at her for putting him into such an awkward situation. He held his tongue.

And yet she moved about the room, as slowly as she spoke and with overpowering confidence, allowing him to take in more of herself. He half wondered if she knew he was staring and was just doing this to taunt him. With even more self-conjured shame Zuko imagined just what trouble the two of them could make sprawled out upon that very table.

Zuko scowled to himself, knowing that these sick thoughts should have never entered his head.

He felt a hand curl over his shoulder.

Azula's touch was firm and all at once gentle. She leaned over, hovering her chin above his shoulder, bangs swaying and brushing his neck at the motion. Her lips settled at ear level. "Zu-Zu," she cooed in a soft whisper, "you really ought to pay attention." Her warm breath fell over the bare skin on his neck. He could swear that there was a hint of cinnamon on her breath. "Are you even paying attention now?" She muttered with a roll of her eyes. Rising back up to her full height, she slaughtered off sparing only one glance back over her shoulder. His temptation flared under her gaze. "You're a real piece of work, you know that?"


	2. Cast Your Stones

Azula closed her eyes for a moment. She offered Zuko the faintest smile. He could see the pain welling in her eyes behind it. And yet she held her smile, the smile that had drawn him in, in the first place. And he knew that this was his fault.

His fault yet she was the one baring the suffering. The humiliation.

She lifted her head up, with as much pride and dignity as ever. But he knew it was fake pride and false dignity. Her true pride was broken and her dignity in shambles. How could it not be? Their father had caught the two of them in a more than compromising position. Going into it the pair knew that the price of their forbidden love was a steep one. Azula was naturally over-confident in her ability to keep everything neatly tucked away and out of sight. And Zuko was to lost in his lust and passion. For that they were both in too deep. Of all places, Ozai had found the two of them in his own bedroom; Azula's lips locked tightly to Zuko's, one hand under her shirt and one pulling at her hair.

And now Azula was paying for it.

She'd been standing out there, chained to a pole for at least two days now, the sun beaming cruelly down on her. He observed that her skin—mostly on the left side of her body, was growing red. She was sweating considerably at this point, and he wondered if her smile was even lucid or if she was dazed and delirious with heat and dehydration.

He saw her lick her cracking lips.

And she looked straight at him.

Just like she had on the first day…

That day had burned into his memory like the scar on his face. He'd seen Azula in the moment just before she was taken before the crowd. An expression of sheer terror so foreign to her, etched on her face.

She knew what was coming. Knew it before he did. Of course she did.

But by the time her punishment was dished out she had carefully placed a mask of indifference over that look of terror.

The shaming tactics came first. Ozai had ordered her hair to be cut and before the eyes of the nation. Zuko watched them chop carelessly at her silky locks, the same silky locks he had the pleasure of caressing on many occasions. Azula's eyes, he noticed were fixed dead ahead—very distant, falling on the crowd yet all the same, absent. She didn't tremble nor shake. Not a tear escaped. They chopped away at her hair until it was just shorter than Zuko's own. For what it was worth, Zuko thought that the haircut was flattering on her.

It was after that, that the guards had tied her to the pole with her hands twisted painfully behind her. Still Azula didn't crack. Not even a flinch as the chains broke delicate skin. Not one cry at any of the stones or other blunt objects the peasants decided to throw her way. Zuko scowled wondering how they could so easily turn against a woman who had taken such a strong pride in her nation. He watched as a thin line of blood ebbed from her brow to her chin. The urge to wipe it away was overbearing. But he knew that making any sort of contact with her would just make things more difficult in the long run. So he kept his distance, his eyes meeting hers only briefly before she broke eye contact.

Zuko swallowed hard for, by day three her head was dipping forward. In this heat and with so many vicious assaults from the citizens he speculated that Azula wouldn't last much longer. But she's Azula, Zuko declared inwardly. Somehow Azula always managed to hold out longer than anyone expected. And if she lasted the week, Ozai promised that she'd be free to go. That he would clear her name. He made this promise, Zuko knew, because who can survive that long without food or drink?

For that, he urged the public to help her, but he knew very well that the fear Ozai had instilled in them was far more powerful than any compassion or sympathy they had for the former princess. It was funny how the threat of imprisonment or even execution wiped out peoples' good nature and humanity.

So at the very crack of dawn at the one hour that was so ridiculously early that no one prowled the streets Zuko made his way over to her with some of the leftovers from the kitchen. The stuff that no one would see missing.

Careful not to wake the guard, who had made a dangerous habit of falling asleep at this hour, Zuko walked over to Azula and pressed the water to her lips. He knew very well that dabbing away the blood or trying to tend the injuries and bruises dotting her ribcage in any way would create for too much suspicion.

Azula only spoke to him once, her voice hoarse and barely audible. She spoke when he tried to feed her; "no, I don't want that." And that was the end of the discussion, she refused to eat like one of the peasants who'd thrown rotten food and rocks at her. And he knew he couldn't make her. So he settled for giving her, her fill of water and then slipping away before he could get caught.

On that same morning Zuko started to think. He knew that he should run for his life, knew he should save himself while he had the chance. But somehow he felt that that would be a huge betrayal to Azula. How could he cause her to endure such torment and then flee when faced with the same punishment? He couldn't do that, not when this was his fault.

That's how he ended up tied to the same pole at the week's end. How he had come to feel the sting of rocks and the warm flow of blood as it fell from lacerations fresh and days old. That's how he'd ended up relying on nightly visits from Azula—once again dressed in her finery with only a cut at her brow and a still swollen eye to show for her troubles—to keep him alive.

She kissed his cheek and whispered. "Once you get out of this we can leave."

But Zuko had a striking feeling that he wouldn't make it out of this one. And so he spoke, "I hope you can find someone you love just as much as or more than you love me." He truly did wish his sister the best. So when the sixth day rolled around and he Azula her standing on the balcony with the same servants who had once spat in her direction at her feet he smiled and gave a faint wave.

She didn't return the smile.

She knew what was coming.

Apparently Ozai had cleared her name by claiming that everything was a misunderstanding and that Zuko had forced himself upon his precious and dear daughter. And anytime she would deny this, Ozai would be sure to bring up how traumatic and damaging that this whole experience had been.

Azula pressed her lips firmly together, in turn Zuko braced himself for the worst. The peasants never took too kindly to an invasive man.

With all of his soul he hoped that Azula had one more of her tricky schemes at hand.


	3. Soup & Tea

Azula gave a soft sniffle. "This is all your fault you know." She brushed her tangled hair out of her face, eyeing Zuko with the most vicious stare she could manage with a throbbing headache.

"How is this my fault?" Zuko asked.

"You were the first person in this palace to get sick." Azula grumbled. "And the mother, and then half of the guards, and now me." She folded her arms over her chest. She could feel her cheeks growing hot and flushed with fever and annoyance.

"Well perhaps if you didn't insist on kissing me..."

Azula huffed, causing that one strand of hair still in her face to float gently up.

Zuko sat upon the foot of her bed and placed a hand onto her forehead. "You want me to get you something? A cool towel? Some soup or tea?"

Azula thought for a minute, though that was growing hard to do as well with her head pounding the way it was. She shut her eyes rolled onto her side. "I don't know Zuko. My head hurts. My eyes are burning. And honestly everything hurts."

"I can bring you some medicinal tea with the soup." Zuko suggested.

"You could..." Azula trailed off, slinging her arm over her eyes. "Close the curtains will you?" She snapped. "The sun is making it worse.

"Well someone is cranky." Zuko grumbled.

"Gee I wonder why."

"So should I get the soup?"

Azula pondered it again. On one hand she was pretty hungry, on the other she could seem to keep her food down. "I guess, but not too much." She paused, "but yes, definitely bring the tea."

Zuko nodded. He slipped out of her room, leaving her to endure the sickness on her own for a few minutes. Naturally he wasn't there to hold her hand this time when she doubled over into another coughing fit. Each one seemed to tear at her throat more harshly and painfully than the next. By morning she'd probably have, at best, a scratchy and hoarse voice or, at worst, no voice at all. And if she kept yelling at Zuko for getting her sick in the first place she'd lose her voice by the close of the night.

Azula rubbed away the sweat that had formed at her hairline. She imagined that her hair was messy and her face either an ugly blotchy red or a sickly pale. And she probably looked more sleepy than she had on those nights she had trouble sleeping. "I probably look awful don't I?" She threw the question at Zuko right when he re-entered the room.

"Yeah, kinda." He replied. He cupped the bowl of soup into her hands.

"Thanks Zu Zu."

"Anytime." Zuko picked up the spoon. "Here." And for a little while she let him feed her. Eventually she insisted that she could do so on her own. So he settled on brushing a hand over her hair and then mixing various medicinal herbs into her tea.

"Is it almost ready?" Azula asked. "My mouth has been dry for the past few hours."

"Yes, it's done, here." He held the teacup to her lips until she pushed it away. Evidently she had nearly drained the cup before doing so. He set the cup aside and sat again on the bed next to her.

"Your head feel any better?"

"It's been 20 minutes Zuko. It still feels awful."

"Maybe if you didn't think so much..."

Azula cut him off. "That has nothing to do with anything." She snuggled her way into his arms. "Nothing at all."

"I don't know if we should be this close." Zuko pointed out.

"I thought we already talked about this." Azula murmured into his shirt.

"No, I mean you're going to get me sick again."

Azula smirked, "that's the plan Zu Zu."


	4. Distinguish

She looks like their mother when she ties her hair up like that.

She looks like their mother when she paints her lips in just that shade.

She looks like her mother and he realizes that he can't quite resist that.

Zuko notices these things in the faintest glimpses. And he wonders what they mean. He wonders just how like their mother Azula truly is. And in some ways it makes him uncomfortable. When his hand brushes hers…when their lips meet, a part of him tenses and cringes. Because sometimes when she wears her hair a certain way, cloths her body in certain outfits, does her makeup in certain shades, he could swear he's kissing his mother.

He crossed a lot of boundaries already, just by being with Azula. The only reason he got away with it was through claims of wishing to keep the bloodline pure. But just the idea of being with his mother was sickening to him.

Sickening enough that when Azula particularly resembled their mother he would push her away and keep her at arm's length until she started to look less like Ursa and more like Azula again. And it hurt him in the worst way to see her look so hurt…and then eventually angry with him for casting her aside with no apparent cause. She never did handle rejection well and would usually put her walls up in return—not speaking to him for days or a little over a week even after he came back to her.

At first Azula had placed a lot of it on herself, wondering what she had done to him to make him so angry. What she had done to earn his cold shoulder. She had asked him why he would push her away. Zuko couldn't bring himself to vocalize the embarrassing truth. So eventually Azula shifted the blame to where it belonged.

With him.

He deserved it, he knew. He'd much rather see her mad at him than frustrated with herself for no reason. It hurt to see her berating herself. And it killed him to know that he had been too much of a wimp to tell her the truth. But how does one even go about confessing the type of discomfort he had.

What seemed to make matters worse was that there were times when she'd act more like her mother than she realized, than she ever wanted to especially given their history. The way Azula would comfort and encourage him in particular reminded him of their mother. How she would tell him that Ozai's opinions no logger mattered and questioned if they ever should have.

How could he possibly tell her so? Without a doubt the princess would be less than thrilled to hear that she was like Ursa. He was damned if he did and damned if he didn't. Zuko hunched over pressing his elbows to the desktop and his palms to his eyes. What a frustrating situation. He looked up at Azula who brushed right past him, it had been three days since he had pushed her way and three more since she decided she still wasn't going to talk to him when he decided his discomfort was gone.

He was going to lose Azula. And because he couldn't seem to separate she and their mother. He bit the inside of his lip. He was going to tell her. Even if the revelation made her angrier than secrets. At least he could say he tried.

At least if he only earned her scorn for it, he'd clearly be able to separate Azula from Ursa.


	5. Pride To Swallow

**Thanks everyone for your reviews and such. Also a big thanks to SilhouetteOfScribe for her (or his) lovely continuation of the last chapter in a fic called Not Our Mother. It's cool to know that my fics are read and appreciated that much.**

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Azula drew her cloak tighter around her body, shivering slightly against the night chill. The fire didn't seem to burn as warmly and her clothing seemed somehow flimsier. She once again longed to be back home at the palace.

But she couldn't get there without the help of a certain Fire Lord. A Fire Lord she had spent her life doing nothing to but tormenting.

She'd done for him, perhaps, one or two good things. Or tried to anyways. But both deeds could be spun to make her look self-fulfilling and nothing more. Truly she wanted to bring her brother home so she tried to offer him some glory. Naturally the Avatar had lived and it would seem that she was just trying to cover for herself. Similarly her attempt to shape Zuko into a stronger leader was reduced to her simply wanting to spark terror and enact her vengeance.

Even if her good deeds hadn't gone sour, forgiveness was a scary and foreign thing. Azula herself wasn't quite sure that she really even wanted it. It seemed strange to consider asking for it or getting it. What would she and Zuko do then? Really, the pair was quite fueled by their constant banter.

It didn't matter anyways, Azula had also come to conclude that she didn't quite deserve forgiveness anyhow and probably wouldn't get it if she tried. Forgiveness requires a degree of trust, and she wasn't known for being a trusting person. And was even less known for being trustworthy.

She laid down and pulled her hood over her head, fixing her eyes on the dancing flames. She hoped that they would lull her to sleep. She could use the sleep seeing as she had deprived herself of it for quite some time.

Seeing as she had planned on making her way back to the palace in the morning.

For better or for worse.

 _For better or for worse._

The words circled in her head as she neared the palace.

The guards were adamant about not letting her inside, viewing her as a safety concern. So she took a seat on the staircase leading to the place that was once her home. She decided that she would wait there until Zuko came out or the palace staff forced her away.

Whichever came first.

Neither of the two came first. Azula quickly found that the longer she sat there, the more anxious she got. She began to wonder if she should simply leave; the embarrassment that comes with begging for forgiveness alone was too much. But the thought of begging only to hear that she wasn't forgiven would be outright mortifying. The princess was never one to swallow her pride.

With the dignity she had left, Azula stood with her head held high and made her way down the steps.

"Azula?"

She cast a glace behind her.

"I didn't know that you were here."

"You're new guards aren't very informative are they ZuZu?" Azula shrugged.

"I suppose not. How long have you been here? Only a few minutes I hope."

"Two days."

"Two _days_? Why would you sit there for two days, you never had a problem sneaking in before." Zuko pointed out.

Azula sighed. "Perhaps I thought sneaking in would be counterproductive. Besides, I shouldn't have to break into my own house."

Zuko chuckled. "I suppose not." He trailed off. "Why are you here Azula?"

For the first time in a long while, she had nothing to say. No clever quip seated on the tip of her tongue. No well-weaved lie to save her some face. Just the raw truth. "It doesn't matter, I was just leaving." She strode down another stair.

"It matters to me." Zuko muttered. "You were here to hurt me weren't you? Azula…"

"No!" She replied a bit too quickly. "I wasn't here to hurt you."

"Then what? Why are you here?" He asked again.

Azula could have said nothing and walked away, that seemed like a pretty option. She also could have made a little something up, something just believable enough. But instead she turned to him and half whispered, "I came here to tell you that I don't hate you." She paused. "And that I kind of enjoy hearing the stupid things you say…and that perhaps I shouldn't always tell you that those stupid thing are stupid. I also probably shouldn't have shoved you into the turtleduck pond when we were kids…"

Zuko offered her a lopsided smile, one that she had every urge to call ridiculous and of course, stupid. But she held her tongue. "Was that an apology?"

"It certainly wasn't." Azula folded her arms over her chest. "Why, did it sound like one?"

Zuko nodded.

"Well it wasn't ." Azula insisted.

"Oh I think it was." Zuko replied smugly. "It's okay, that's good enough. I'm not a blood thirsty, savage Fire Lord, I guess I won't actually make you say the 'S' word. I should though."

"Good." Azula grumbled. "I wasn't going to say it anyhow." Even she knew that, that was a lie. If he hadn't forgiven her so easily she probably would have said sorry.

Multiple times.

She sighed, "alright, but maybe I should say it anyways."

"Would that make you feel better?" Zuko asked.

"Depends what you mean by better. Better as in morally sound, yes. Better as in actually feeling pleasant, not really." Azula admitted, awkward and vulnerable was never a good feeling. "But it doesn't matter ZuZu because I am. Sorry. I am sorry." She turned away, her discomfort growing.

"And here I was trying to be a merciful Fire Lord." He decided to continue his merciful reign by not calling her on the slight flush that warmed her cheeks. "I already said it's okay."

"Is it Zuko?"

Zuko tugged her into a soft hug. "It is, I promise. I forgive you." He ran his hand over her silky hair. "The question is, do you forgive me for locking you away for so long?"

Azula gnawed slightly at her lip and nodded.

Apparently they were both going to have to swallow their pride to make this work.


	6. I Can't Promise

Zuko pressed his lips to Azula's cold forehead and brushed her hair back. She looked so peaceful with her eyes closed—without a hint of them being squeezed too tight—and her lips pressed softly together, painted in a red and glossy tint. Her hands were clasped together, resting on her stomach. He brushed his hand over her pale cheek.

He could almost pretend that she was just sleeping, save for that she had always preferred to sleep on her belly with her hands under her head. And that she no longer had the feeling nor scent of fire that usually hung around her. It was funny how everyone seemed to think she would have wanted to be presented before everyone wearing ridiculously expensive perfume. If they knew her like he did they'd know that she much preferred smelling like smoke and rather hated the overwhelming fragrances that perfumes made.

He choked back a bubble of sorrow that had slowly formed in his throat.

Her hand felt like ice beneath his and no matter what he did he couldn't seem to warm it. His stomach lurched at the thought. He couldn't quite fathom…couldn't quite grasp how someone who had marshalled fire so skillfully could radiate such coolness.

Zuko clenched his teeth. Only a few days ago they sat together on the palace roof. He had told her of his plans for the nation and vented about how being Fire Lord kind of blows. She had told him that she was rather fond of her position as a Fire Warrior and thanked him for helping her realize that her destiny lie exactly there. That she had always longed for the welfare and glory of her nation and that there was no better way to uphold that than to be out there fighting.

It really should have surprised him to know that she'd die in battle. Azula always had a thing for going down with pride and dignity. He could never imagine her retreating, even if it would cost her, her life. He just didn't think it would happen so soon.

On that night—the night before she departed—Zuko had asked Azula to promise him that she'd come back. He followed that up by requesting that she promise that if things went south, she'd surrender this time—given how she'd narrowly missed death last time.

On that night Azula looked at him and declared that she couldn't promise anything of the sort. That, in fact, she could promise only the opposite—that if things went downhill she'd stay and fight harder. That she would make sure she could get as many of her warriors to safety first.

Things had went very south that day. Zuko received few details about the nature of her death and the death of many others as the coroner his subjects found the story to grizzly to vocalize. He looked down at Azula's mostly unblemished body and wondered what they meant. They hadn't had to patch her up beyond hiding a few cuts and bruises.

He wondered if the blades she fought against were poisoned.

Zuko fought to push a vision of his sister struggling against a poison; her mouth lightly frothing, breaths hard to taken, her body going limp and slightly discolored out of his head.

He carefully hoisted Azula's body against his own and hugged it tightly while running a hand over her thick, well-groomed locks. Days ago he would have felt her heart beating against his, the rhythmic and comforting rise and fall of her chest and her breath on the nape of his neck.

The Azula he held now was stiff and could not provide him with the condolence he sought.

He missed her.

He loved her.

He wanted her back. A tear slid down his cheek and slipped into her hair. He could practically feel Azula punching his arm, telling him to "stop crying you little bitch." Which never helped at all but he'd give anything in the world to hear it again.

Zuko felt a tap on his shoulder. "It's time for the ceremony to begin." The voice stated before urging him to put his sister down. But he didn't want to see her off…couldn't let her go.

He leaned over and whispered in her hear, "why couldn't you have just promised me?"


End file.
